


Bittersweet

by Stan_Hoe



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, and him pouring a lot of love for anne bc he's a lovesick fool, it sounds worse than it is, it's gilbert thinking about what could've been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stan_Hoe/pseuds/Stan_Hoe
Summary: Sometimes Gilbert would cry when thinking of Anne.---------------------Or: Gilbert gets upset when he realizes his family never got to meet his Anne with an E.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 168





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Remember when Marilla and Gilbert were talking back in S1 and he mentioned that "They were a big family once"? Well, I got hung up on that. This boy, as happy as he is in S1 and S3, is still emotionally wrecked, and i kinda tried to explore that. I hope i did a good enogh job. 
> 
> English isn't my first lenguage, so i'm sorry beforhand for any typo you might find. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes Gilbert would cry when thinking of Anne. 

Not because she could ever hurt him, not at all. She was a being of pure light and love, so very kind albeit stubborn. She was the reason Gilbert could see the silver lining when things seemed utterly wrong. She was the reason he didn’t felt guilty when he was completely happy and acting all childish again. 

But that’s exactly what saddened him at night. Sometimes, he would casually remember _this_ thing Anne said or _that_ thing Anne did, and he would realize how much his father would’ve loved her. How his eyes would wrinkle as he laughed and turned to him with a knowing smirk, to later pat him on his shoulder, proudly, and say “she is a keeper, son.” 

And on the cold, lonesome nights in Toronto, after his mind was barren from exams and grades, he would inevitably wonder what his mother would’ve thought of Anne. What his late aunt and uncles, even his older siblings, would’ve made from the magnificent being Anne was. 

But as much as he would love to, he didn’t have any clear memories of any of his late relatives. Just scattered stories told by his father before his passing, and stories he couldn’t remember clearly at that. 

He would like to believe Anne would’ve made a great impression on all of them. With how smart, kind and imaginative she was, he couldn’t come to fathom any other outcome. Sometimes he would picture his large family; blurry faces with loving smiles sitting on a big table at Christmas, laughing and talking over each other with music on the background as if more noises is what they needed, all of them trying hard to embarrass Gilbert with toddler’s stories for Anne’s utter joy. 

In his mind, Anne would capture everyone’s attention, firstly because of her fiery red-hair, and secondly because of her astonishing mind. She would fit right in, joking with his older siblings as his aunt eyed her with amusement, and as she rambled about her college progress and her decision of joining the suffragette movement, his mother would look at him with a gleam in her eyes, quietly beaming at the both of them before taking his hand softly and whispering “Do marry this lovely lady, my dear.” 

On those nights, he would feel a sorrow so deep he would almost felt hallow from all the missed moments life took from him at such a young age. Fate had been cruel to him in that way. And, as much guilt it would weight him to admit it, he was a little grateful for everything he had lost, because it had led him to Anne in the end. His Anne with an E, who had lightened up his life so much he couldn’t remember grief sometimes. 

He wished he had them. That extended family his father recalled with so much fondness. He wished his siblings would look at him and tease him for being so whipped over Anne _I would make a terrible wife_ Shirley-Cuthbert. He wished they all could coo over their children when the time came, and force them to spend Christmas together. 

Most of all, he wished he knew the feeling he longed for. He wished he knew why he cried for the love of a mother he didn’t get to meet, or the comradery he imagined he would’ve had with his siblings had they still be alive. He wished he could understand why exactly he felt attached to a family he never really knew, but he so wanted. 

And then, he would feel unbearably ungrateful in behalf of all the amazing people he had in his life that almost managed to fill the emptiness he felt in his heart, even if it was impossible. He would jump out of his bed, clean angrily the tear-tracks on his cheek, and search for the little box under his bed where he kept his most treasured correspondence. 

There where letters from Bash, going on and on about his darling Delphine, who he missed so much it almost physically hurt Gilbert, and in between, there would be little good-hearted jests to him for being such a fool over Anne. 

There was correspondence from Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert, who had taken to write him every few weeks, ever since he and Anne had started officially courting, just to remind him to take care of himself and visit the minute he set foot back on Avonlea. 

There was the ever so excited Miss Stacy, his loyal mentor, who asked for his advances at least once a month, and then proceeded to gush over Anne’s own advances, knowing they both could be entertained over that subject for hours on end. 

And then there was his very own Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Some nights, as he read her magnificent words in her ever so lovely handwriting, he would cry harder, a mix between love and loss battling within him without intentions of letting him breathe. Other nights, he would sigh and laugh wetly over her particular adventures as she took on Queens. At the end, he would hug the letters, no matter how happy or sad he felt, and he would send a soundless _thank you_ to God. He had taken people from him, but at the very least he had also given him a chosen family in return. He had given him His most exquisite example of human excellence, also known as Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, and sometimes, he couldn’t help but send an entire, out-loud prayer for letting her stumble into Avonlea. For letting her, somehow, stumble into his heart.

On some of those cold nights, as he cried over a family that was taken from him before he could make memories of them, he would laugh like a mad-man from how weird life was. He was an orphan, but he had a family anyways. A family that cried happy tears as he got married to the woman of his dreams. A family that forced them to host Christmas dinners in their small house of dreams albeit it being too small for the entirety of their family.

A family that was by their side when they lost their first child, and who cuddled their second knowing that he was a miracle sent by God. 

Gilbert came to understand that life wasn’t fair. It wasn’t happy either. The best he could do was to love with his entire heart, like Anne did, and try to make the best out of awful situations. As long as he had his family, everything would be okay.

And when tears had ceased running down his eyes, he would lay in his bed thinking over and over again that he had most incredible family an orphan could ask for. Then, he would sleep in bittersweet slumber.


End file.
